And now for something completely different. Poor Mojo’s, edited by the venerable Giant Squid published a poem of mine called “Talking Myself into Apple Crisp”, an appropriate poem right now while I’m dieting. The school I now work in is fraught with very tall, very thin, teachers and interns, no more warm and cozy rolly polly kindergarten teachers, I’ve got to do my part to fit in. Besides, health wise I could stand to lose a few, and yoga always renews both my mind and my body, and walking from class to class, up and down stairs, eating the pb&j I threw together that morning doesn’t hurt either.

Then again, I won’t grow another 6 inches or so, so I’ll never be Heidi Klum. And I don’t have to shrink to be happy with who I am. And that’s what this poem is all about, eat, don’t eat, we all die in the end, so make sure you’re happy either way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a treadmill in here somewhere, calling my name.